


she grows on you

by Serendipity1



Category: Moana - Fandom
Genre: Developing Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Now with added fluff, and angst as well I suppose, maui doesn't know how humans work, maui is not concerned about this kid and her death wish at all, maui is really lucky moana wasn't trained in hand to oar combat, maui's developing conscience, mini maui is very done, witty and not so witty banter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-09
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:37:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serendipity1/pseuds/Serendipity1
Summary: Bits of Moana and Maui's journey, from his perspective.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say about this, really, except for it being the product of me really thinking about what is going on through Maui's head through most of this film and trying to read into his actions a little more. Honestly I think it built up around me realizing that Moana falls asleep while sailing and Maui had to move her to the other end of the boat, an image which seemed really cute in my head.

Maui sees Moana through the lens of centuries: her eyes and the angle of her cheekbones look like those of a woman he knew in those years before the theft of Te Fiti's heart, a woman who fished and hunted and was brash and loud. He forgets her name. The mouth when she smiles reminds him of someone else, a boy who fished by a village, but then her expression changes and she looks like a long-ago member of nobility. It's why 'princess' springs to his lips, unbidden.

  
But of course those people are long dead by now.

  
***

  
Basically, he doesn't have anything against this kid. But he does't feel the urge to go anywhere near that cursed bit of rock, let alone face down Te Ka a second time. A couple centuries of helping out humans and a thousand years of being stranded on this tiny bit of an island? The least humanity can gift him with is a boat, right? Right. He's not asking for miracles, here.

  
Just a bit of gratitude, maybe.

  
Maui has a pretty good plan going for all of a few minutes there: go get his fishhook back, become awesome again, maybe catch up on the thousand years of news he'd missed out on. Simple enough. He figures the kid has parents somewhere around behind her or waiting on her because seriously, a literal baby coming after him in a boat that small for something like this? Pfft, reinforcements had to be around somewhere.

  
So straight to Lalotai he heads, and makes a pretty good fist of it for all of five minutes. And then the ocean tips its hand and announces, in its quiet watery way, that he is getting a road trip buddy that he never wanted or asked for.

  
Not really a buddy, come to think of it. Something like the human equivalent of a sea urchin spine in the foot. An urchin spine that gives annoying speeches and acts like she is in charge despite being approximately twelve. But hey, he can roll with this.

  
***

  
He's still snickering to himself over the 'warm current' prank when he realizes the girl has just plain out stopped talking to him. Which, fine, could be a plus. It wasn't as if she'd been talking to him too much before, aside from asking the occasional question about what she was supposed to do with this or that part of the canoe. Now she's clumsily adjusting the sail, drifting them a little farther to the right than they should be, her mouth in a tight line and her eyes simmering with irritation. It's adorable.

  
Mini Maui jumps irritably on him from his position somewhere on his left bicep. It's really unfair that everything else is numb but he can feel that, a sensation like a mosquito consistantly biting the same spot. "Knock it off," he mutters, wishing he had the use of his hands so he could flick his miniature self somewhere unobtrusive. Maybe his armpit, like he'd planned before.

  
Moana slides a glance at him, clearly taking the comment as another instruction.

  
"Further left," he says, rolling his eyes.

  
This time she yanks at the rope too hard, probably taking some of her clear frustration out on it. Bad idea, princess. The boat jerks sharply to the left, taking her balance with it, and she has to duck as the boom travels right over her head. Maui's gleefully looking forward to the not-so-distant future where she forgets to duck and gets knocked right off the boat.

  
"Nice going." he says mockingly, "Really smooth. All that self teaching really paid off."

  
Nothing. Not even an attempt at a snappy comeback. She just narrows her eyes at him for a moment and goes back to what she's doing.

  
"Trying to ignore me's not going to help you learn wayfinding, you know," he says with what he knows is incredibly obnoxious false cheer, "Look at me, handing out free lessons and you're just not taking advantage of the moment!"

  
"Are we even going the right way?" she asks, looking like what she wants to do is cheerfully murder him. Probably with that oar.

  
"Can't you tell?" he asks, smug.

  
You wanted to sail, little girl, he thinks. No one said this was going to be easy. Especially when your teacher is being held hostage by the ocean, who is clearly a backstabbing maniac. The second the dart wears off he's taking over the show: he knows it, the ocean knows it, the kid probably even knows it. No point in carrying on with this pretence for much longer.

  
Moana just sits there with no answer for him, her expression an interesting mixture of annoyance and uncertainty.

  
"I know," he says poking further for a reaction, "If you're confused about where we are, try checking the currents." The immediate disgust that spreads over her face makes him start laughing again, and she rubs her hand against her skirt as if trying to wipe away the memory of the incident.

  
"You're a jerk," she splutters, "Would it kill you to act like less of a- a toddler?"

  
"Says the literal mortal child," he says, unimpressed.

  
Mini Maui kicks him in the upper arm.

  
***

  
The sky is going from the oranges and pinks of sunset to dark, deep blue, and the kid is nodding off. Her head drops to her chest before she startles awake for another handful of seconds. Her eyes; tired and heavy-lidded, slip shut and flutter open again and again. It's a nice change from the irritated glances and the smug looks she's been giving him through this awful trip.

  
"Wake up," he says flatly, for what has to be the hundredth time. She's too young to be facing any monster let alone Te Ka, no one's taught her anything about wayfinding, and she doesn't even have the self discipline to stay awake. It's sad. They sent some untrained kid after him and expected her to manage it. He'd feel sorry for her if he didn't find her so annoying.

  
The kid- Moana, startles into wakefulness again. "'M awake," she announces, her gaze lifeless.

  
"Sure you are," Maui mumbles. Good thing for everyone he'd been getting feeling back in his legs and arms for a while now. If those darts worked any longer, they'd be floating around without anyone at the helm. Though, considering the ocean's not-so-subtle hand in all this, it would probably keep them from floating into a squall. Maybe. If it felt like it.

  
It doesn't take long for Moana's gaze to drop once more, and she's snoring this time, chin propped up against one hand, the other slack and losing hold of the rope.

  
"Really impressive," Maui says in a tone thick with sarcasm. "I can see why they sent you." His miniature self snaps one of his tattoos, like a pinch or a flick. "Oh come on, she can't even hear me."

  
His whole body is still slightly numb from the paralysis, but at least now he can get up and move around enough to take over. "Which is fortunate," Maui comments to the water lapping at the edges of the boat, "Since if I was still lying there, we'd be headed way off course by now." The ocean curls irritably around the hull and a small wave splashes at his foot. Everyone's against him for some reason.

  
The kid's easy enough to pick up. Like a leaf, or a twig, or something else small and fragile and barely any weight at all. Her eyes flicker open, briefly, and she looks at him without recognition, seeing someone else in his features. "I went beyond the reef," she half-mumbles, like a confession.

  
"Congrats," he snorts. "I'm impressed. Considering you can't sail."

  
"Don't be mad," she says, a sleep-slurred whisper, and drops back off, her face turned against his arm.

  
Maui rolls his eyes. "Why would I be mad you can't sail? Scratch that, I'm furious. This means your village is just as nuts as you are. Gives me lots of faith in this save the world plan."

  
Maui's tiny self shakes his head at him, gesturing with his hands at Moana's head, her curly dark hair a few inches from his tattoo's feet.

  
"She can't hear me, doofus. Calm down." With her face relaxed in sleep, she looks even younger. Just a little girl alone on the sea trying to act the role of a questing hero. It's ridiculous. ( _it's sad/a little scrunched down part of him thinks/he scrunches it further_ )

  
He sets her down gently enough and she shifts into a more comfortable position on the canoe's wooden floor. The ocean gently passes a wave over her outstretched hand, like a caress. He doesn't remember the ocean having that much of a soft spot for kids. It's drowned enough of them.

( _with one exception)_

_(the thought lands like a lance/like a piercing spear thrust_ )

  
"Why are _you_ going along with this?" Maui questions, not expecting much of a response. "Look at her. She needs a babysitter, not an adventure leading her to certain death." Nothing. Not even a ripple. Figures. Well, they'll be hitting Lalotai soon enough, he'll get his fishhook and save the world _again_ , and this kid can go back home where undoubtedly she'll go right back to whatever chief's daughterly duties make up her life. A happy ending for everyone.

  
***

  
Maui values nearly suicidal bravery as much as any demigod but this kid is on a new level of danger-seeking behavior. Which is to say, she _was_ , because with the speed of her fall and the sheer amount of monsters lurking around down there, chances of her surviving are honestly slim.

  
Mini Maui is yanking him by the tattooes and gnawing at his inked fingernails in concern. His tattoo needs to get over it. Seriously, he doesn't remember his ink getting this attached to anyone. It's been a few years, obviously, but he's sure this is new behavior.

  
"Yeah, we're checking on her," Maui says, rolling his eyes, "Or at least on her partially-eaten body. If we find one." He is the master of reassurance.

  
Mini Maui responds to this by hopping around frenetically which always results in a terrible itchiness. He swings his tiny hands wide, implying that he is upset at Maui's total lack of concern. Which is unfair because he's known this girl for like a day, that's hardly enough time to get attached to anyone, let alone a mortal who is definitely going to pass from this world soon enough anyway.

  
Not that he _wants_ her to die. He told her very specifically to stay on the boat, didn't he? Okay, he might have accidentally goaded her into climbing up with him but really, he wanted her on that boat and not waltzing around Lalotai. It's not his fault that she followed him and it's definitely not his fault that she didn't stick the landing that she never should have taken and...well. Ah.

  
Okay, there she is. Being chased by random bat monsters. Safe and sound. ( _and he can pretend well enough that the breath of relief he takes didn't happen_ )

  
"Happy?" he whispers to his miniature self. The tattoo waggles an imperious finger at him and he rolls his eyes. "Oh, come on. She's fine. See? Already walking into even more danger. This kid needs a leash."

  
More danger being the lair of Tamatoa, if he remembers the place correctly, so if nothing else she has good instincts. It looks about the same as it did last time. Maybe the plants are a bit different. Could be Tamatoa took up some interior decorating in the millenia he'd been absent. Sounds like something the old bottom feeder would do, come to think of it. Aside from steal his fishhook and stick it right in the middle of his shell, the dirtbag.

  
And then there's a fist in his face. Good left hook on her for a tiny mortal child. Still, this sort of thing is really testing his patience.

  
Seriously, between the tattoo and the kid he feels like he's being ganged up on by a bunch of angry little birds.

  
"Stay," Maui says, trying to sink more authority into his tone. Like he should have to. He's an actual breathing and existing demi-god, that used to be more than enough for humans- even scrappy little chief daughter brats, to listen to him. Now it's apparently not enough incentive. No, apparently her continued survival is not a good enough incentive. It is a miracle she's managed to live this long.

  
Yep, she's opening her mouth to argue. If her chief dad was around he'd ask some questions about his parenting style. Obviously something went wrong.

  
"Look, for the past thousand years all I've thought about is keeping this hair silky, getting my fishhook, and going back to being awesome again," he tells her, binding his hair up out of his eyes as he speaks, "And it's not getting screwed up by some mortal who has no business in a monster cave..." he trails off, eying a large, pearlescent shell. "Except..."

  
Except, come to think of it, Tamatoa is incredibly distractible.

  
Like, anything remotely sparkly comes wandering by and it has his immediate attention. That sort of distractibility is definitely something he can take advantage of for this. He only really needs a couple minutes to jump on that showboater's shell to grab the hook and once he's there: Bam! Awesome again. He'll take the dumb crab out in no time. And it'll be easier than taking the chance of climbing up there himself.

  
"Except...maybe as bait?" he says, the plan already forming in his mind. He flashes a convincing smile in her direction, and she responds with one of those totally dumbfounded faces she pulls when his amazing knowledge has overcome her mortal ability to comprehend. It's sad, really.

  
"Bait?" she repeats, incredulously.

  
"That's right," he says, picking up the shell and inspecting it. Seems big enough. "You want to help out, right?" he asks cajolingly. Because that's obvious enough about her. Moana of Motonui seems to have taken it as her duty to not just be an escort but also an active participant in this world saving thing, lava monsters and all. This is a task she's at least capable of doing.

  
Moana looks at him with open suspicion. "Yes?"

  
"Great!" he plops the shell on her head and looks around for something to complete the look while she splutters and yanks it off.

  
"W-what...what good is this thing going-" she starts, gripping the shell like it's a weapon or something. This girl has serious violence issues. Maybe that's why the ocean picked her out.

  
"He likes treasure," he explains, snatching up another shell, this one more of a clamshell than the twisting spiral of Moana's new hat, "He likes anything sparkly, glittery, and shiny. You, O daughter of the chief, are going to march yourself in there and present yourself as a new addition to his collection."

  
"Why can't we just grab-"

  
"If you honestly think anything will go that easy in Lalotai, you're, well. Actually just as naive as I thought you'd be." Maui smirks at her answering glare. "I know it looks easy to grab, but trust me, he's making it look easy. It's a trap. Not that you've been particularly good at spotting those," he adds pointedly. To his annoyance, his tattoo traitor version of himself does not add a point to his scoreboard.

  
The kid turns the shell over in her hand, apparently in deep and irritated contemplation, as he attaches a ropelike bit of seaweed to the clamshell, making it something of a gigantic necklace.

  
"Are you sure it's going to work?" she finally asks.

  
He rolls his eyes. "Of the two of us, which of us has gone through hundreds of adventures, some of them actually _in_ the realm of monsters, and which of us only recently graduated from waddling around in diapers?"

  
"Well, I-"

  
"It's going to work," he finishes, taking some petty pleasure in constantly keeping her from uttering a full sentence. With a dramatically overdone flourish, Maui presents her with the giant glittery clamshell on a string, and a makeshift drum made of another shell and a bone.

  
Moana looks at the whole ensemble and narrows her eyes at him. She keeps doing that, her face is going to stick that way and she'll go down in village history as that one chief with the perpetually shifty expression.

  
"Something wrong?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.

  
She's folding her arms, like she's copying someone else who probably has a more intimidating staredown than she does. "Just to be clear," she says, "This is an actual plan we're doing and not just another excuse on your part to make me look ridiculous, right?"

  
Maui laughs, clapping one of his hands on her shoulders. "Oh, curly," he says, "Of course it's a real plan and I am so shocked you are doubting my wisdom." He sticks the shell hat on her head and grins at her, taking it in. "I mean, making you look ridiculous is just an added perk, not the actual point of the plan."

  
This time, she and Mini Maui manage to punch him in the bicep in one coordinated move. It's impressive.

  
***

  
After quite a few strenuous attempts at shapeshifting back into a fully humanesque form, he manages to make it work and gets on the canoe without much comment. There's nothing he wants to say. For a thousand years, he's been longing for that hook, like someone who's lost a hand and can still feel the phantom pains tugging at the stump. Now it's back and it's rejected him, or the gods have. ( _rejected him/thrown him away/like nothing/nothing his mind skitters around the words like a nervous mouse_ ) He feels like he's choking on air.

  
Moana grunts with the effort of hauling the hook to the side so she can set out to sea, following the directions he'd halfheartedly set out for her. He's not touching that thing now that it too has turned against him, for all he knows he'll get frozen in the form of a beetle.

  
"Are you all right?" the kid asks, hesitantly, one hand on the oar and her expression, for once, unreadable.

  
Maui just gives her a flat look.

  
Moana's glance darts away, her eyes on the ocean for a moment before again meeting his. "I mean," she adds, "That monster...Tamatoa was beating you and you seemed-"

  
"I heal fast," he grunts, not wanting to revisit the memory of being beaten down by a single dumb crab, of his vision swimming and his body aching and every moment it felt like he was going to actually die almost alone and then eaten. Of Tamatoa's taunting voice reminding him of his abandonment.

  
"Oh," Moana says, and now he recognizes the scrutinizing look she's giving him as someone looking for damage. "Must be nice," she adds, like she's trying to get him to talk. He must look really pathetic if this snot-nosed kid who probably hates his guts is trying to get him to talk to her.

  
But then, he might be being unfair. Someone who hates him wouldn't have gone that far into trying to save him, right? He remembers looking down and seeing, through the hazy agony of being dragged and lifted by his hair, Moana struggling her way out of that urchin cage she'd been put in, her eyes huge with terror. She could have run far away while Tamatoa was busy eating him, could have left him to his fate and fled to save her own skin. She could have just turned her back and she saved him instead, so she probably doesn't hate him. 

So much for being the hero to all, protector of humanity. He couldn't even protect one tiny human kid, so good luck on this 'go demolish the lava monster and return the heart' deal. World's over. 

  
"Maybe you could just practice turning into animals?" she suggests after a long moment. "It's worth a shot, right? Maybe you're just rusty after a thousand years?"

He just shrugs.

"You're not just going to sit there like that this whole time, are you?" she says. "Because, I mean, that's not really helpful either."

Maui slides her an annoyed look. "We are going in literally the opposite direction, and we're going there slowly," he says, and she yelps and tries to adjust a few ropes. One of the wrong ones. He doesn't mention it for the one moment of sheer petty enjoyment he can see himself getting when the sail knocks the kid right off her feet.

And then, wouldn't you know it, he can't even enjoy that, because sure enough the sail catches her right in the side and knocks her into the canoe floor (and him), but instead of the short cry of alarm he's expecting, Moana lets out a low, sobbing gasp of pain as her shoulder hits the wood of the floor. Unthinkingly, Maui grabs for her arm to yank her to her feet and has to jerk his hands away when she cries out as though he's just crushed her bones between his clumsy fingers. 

"Kid?" he asks, frowning. 

Moana pulls herself up and he finally notices how stiff the movement is, the care she takes moving her limbs, the stubborn set of her shoulders. She shifts and he sees across her back the beginning of bruises blooming on her skin and can only guess how sore those merely-mortal muscles of hers must be after the climb up that mountain. 

"You're hurt," he says, because it's not really a question. Not with the evidence all but painted across her back and Moana's face pale as she steadies herself. 

Moana shrugs and winces at the movement. "When I fell, I think," she says, "I landed on a bunch of rocks- or something. Coral? And Tamatoa yanked at my arms a bit, but they're still in their sockets," she adds quickly, a brief flash of horror crawling across her features at the memory. Maybe at the realization of what could have happened. He can't blame her, Maui feels a little sick himself at that thought.

He reaches out to inspect the damage and she flinches away from his touch, drawing her arm back a bit, her eyes wary. She looks like she's bracing herself to be yanked again, maybe tossed overboard again.

Maui hasn't been one for guilt these past centuries but it's probably in that split-second clench of his stomach at the distrust in her face.

A little slower this time, he reaches out a hand without actually touching her arm, watching her frown as she seems to decide to trust him in this. "No tricks," he tells her, sincere, and she relents and lets him look at her arms, shoulders and back. Plenty of bruising but for all of that, he can't feel the telltale signs of broken bones. How long has it been since he's done this? Ages. He's forgotten how breakable mortals are.

"I'm fine," she tells him, all confidence. 

"Put coconut oil on that," he says, turning away from her, "Rub it in, and try not to hit yourself with the sail again."

"And you practice shapeshifting?" she says, trying to sound authoritative but faltering just a bit.

Maui spreads his arms as if to demonstrate the total futility of that sort of thing. "Sure," he says, trying to summon up sarcasm but mostly coming up with deadpan fatalism. "Let's play the 'how many animals can I turn myself into in the span of a second' game. Should be fun." He'd say they were doomed and were definitely going to die, but considering this girl's actions thus far he figures she must enjoy that sort of thing.

***

"But the gods aren't the ones who make you Maui. You are."

The girl says this like it's nothing, like it's obvious. Like it's as clear to her as the pictures set in black ink and marked out on his skin for her to read.

 How long ago was it, he wonders, when he came back to humanity. From the gods he came, fishhook brand new, eager to please. He came and sat at their fires and watched their lives and brought them gifts and no one, he thinks, no one in those days had told him he was enough without what the gods gave him and tasked him with. And how long has it been, he wonders, that he's been wondering without knowing it if he'd been someone worth saving.

For the first time, Maui looks at Moana and sees something new.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It continues, I...guess? If all goes according to the way my brain is planning this, I should have another chapter and that's it. If it doesn't, well, I tried, and no one can criticize me! It's unfortunate that Maui seems to have devoured my brain, as Moana is very much my favorite of the two. Can't guess why it's happened this way.

Maui can't say there is too much thought involved when he relents, finally, about inducting Moana into the grand fellowship of wayfinders. She hands him the oar without resentment, her wide smile infectiously happy, like she's proud - for _him_ , for his regaining his powers. She's been cheering him on all day. And in that moment he feels an indulgent tug- like a long-forgotten impulse: he wants to do something to make her happy. As simple as that.

  
The second he hands Moana back the oar she holds it close and her face just gets swallowed up in the widest, brightest full-on grin he's ever seen from her. Yeah, he knows she wants to learn how to be a wayfinder, but it hasn't hit him until now how keen that desire is. This is some full-on, dreams come true level _want_. And she's holding on to the oar like she's deep-down just a little concerned that he might change his mind.

  
"Wayfinding 101," he says, snapping his fingers before the kid does something like tear up, which will just embarrass the both of them, "Let's hop to it."

  
She literally _does_ 'hop to it', jumping up there and then, running to the ropes and looking at him with an eagerness so naked that he can't believe he didn't notice it before. Well, to be frank, he might not have cared if he had. So it's a good thing, then, that they shared that little near death experience together or he may never have awakened to the fact that Moana's actually not as much of an annoyance as she seemed.

  
Even if she does seem to have a bit of an issue with direction.

  
Oh well. It's a good long journey to Te Fiti, after all. More than enough time to learn the basics.

  
Mini Maui nods at him approvingly and he pretends not to notice.

  
***

  
Something Maui can't adequately explain to _any_ mortal is the feeling of being stuck in one form. As bad as being landlocked, as bad as being trapped and shackled. Yeah, he was born in this human one, more or less, as much as he doesn't like to think about the whole thing- but that's not important considering how long he's been using that fishhook. For centuries, he guesses, slipping into feathers and scales and fins until one shape is much the same as another, as far as comfort goes.

  
Hard to describe to someone who can't shapeshift how he misses that last sense as a shark that no human has, that ability to sense the energy shimmering about other creatures, or from the earth itself.

  
Or, well, he could at least _describe_ it but he'd probably sound really crazy. Which is honestly the last thing he wants to sound, although Maui figures he can be forgiven a bit of crazy considering the shipwrecked for a thousand years thing. At least he's not talking to random bits of greenery or people who aren't there. Right? Right.

  
In any case, despite the occasional initial...hiccup...after getting his powers back, it's almost euphoric to be able to go from form to form. And yeah, if he gets a bit of an ego boost from the kid's clear and obvious excitement, that's par for the course, right? So he's praise driven. That's totally normal.

  
"Can you turn into any animal?" she asks, leaning against the mast, with Drumstick trying and failing to eat a clamshell that's sitting on the boat. Sometimes he has deep concerns about that chicken.

  
"Any animal I've _seen_ ," he says, grinning a bit, still riding the high of his hawk form. Taking to the air after a millennia of being landlocked is a great sensation. "Although I've got favorites, of course. Why are you asking? Got any requests?" he arches an eyebrow at her.

  
Moana looks surprised for a moment at being asked this and gives sort of a one-shouldered shrug in response. "I don't know," she starts, and Mini Maui takes this as an enticement to start parading out an itemized list of animals by showing them off one by one on his left pec.

  
"A dolphin?" she suggests, finally.

  
Which, yeah, easy enough. He wonders if he should break the news to her that dolphins are mean little things, but figures that dream shattering moment can wait for another day. "Dolphin coming up," he says, and in a hot second he's doing flips right over the canoe while she's watching in delight. This one always was a crowd pleaser, especially for the kids. Either it's the weird squeaky clicky noises or the permanent smile that does it, Maui can not tell. 

  
They run through a few others through the course of the next couple days: hawk, sea turtle, beetle, etc. But not a manta ray. Maui tries this form once and- well, she doesn't tell him why, but the look on her face when he glides around the boat is not at all a happy one.

  
Frankly he's okay with ditching that form, it's a little too weird being a flat, flappy thing.

  
Moana does seem to like the pig form. He tries that one just for the heck of it, not that it ever had any particular battle use. The kid sort of smiles like she's thought of a particularly sarcastic joke and then out and says it: "I think you've finally found your true self. It suits you."

  
Of course, Maui puts on a big show of being offended and tells her so. "I can't decide if I'm more offended by you calling me a pig or you using a joke that tired," he lectures, "I mean, come on. That's the low-hanging fruit of the joke world. I didn't like to point it out before-"

  
"That's because of you being so polite, right?" Moana asks, rolling her eyes.

  
"Right," he says, graciously, "But your repartee is just not up to par. You're gonna have to level up if we're going to keep this world saving companion trip thing going."

  
"Oh no," she deadpans, pausing to retrieve the suicidal chicken from once more returning to the water. "It's that important?"

  
"Of course. Being really hilariously witty is just crucial to these life or death battles. Well, maybe not with Te Ka," he amends, "Not a big talker, that one. Goes more for the drawn out angry screaming and the lava throwing. But that's no excuse to let standards slip."

  
"I'll try," she says, now totally preoccupied with the sail, since a good bit of wind has started to kick up. There's a few shaky moments where she struggles to keep the canoe sailing in a somewhat straight line, but eventually she manages it well enough.

  
He comes up, still in pig form, already prepared to make- he doesn't know, some quip or another about her lackluster comebacks, and she absentmindedly reaches out and scratches him gently behind the ears, clearly not thinking about what she's doing. It startles him right out of the form and then it's, if anything, even more awkward because at that point she's standing there with her hand on his head, her fingers tangled in his hair.

  
There's one of those uncomfortable few seconds of staring before she snatches her hand back and starts apologizing at a hundred miles a minute. "I'm sorry! I just- look, we have a lot of pigs on Motonui...like, we have a lot, and I have a pet pig, and he likes his head scratches, and I just forgot..."

  
"This is your plan, isn't it?" he says, sounding dead serious. She looks at him, eyes wide, preparing another apologyfest no doubt. It's great. "This is all just a big ploy to make me the coolest pet pig on your island," he finishes, raising a cocky brow at her.

  
Moana covers her face. "Oh no, just stop."

  
"I can't blame you. I'm irresistible in every form-"

  
"Please just don't."

  
"You really had me going with all those save the world speeches, but now I see what you're really about. I knew you went along with the trip to Lalotai way too easily, you were just tagging along to make sure I got it to initiate the final stage of your plan."

  
Moana lowers her hands and gives him a glare with no actual heat in it. "You're not going to let this go, are you?"

  
He hums to himself, smirking a little. "Honestly it depends what else you do during this exciting voyage. There's a world of opportunities for you to get overly familiar."

  
She smacks him with the oar. As a response, it lacks luster.

"See there?" he says, backing away, "That was an example of you needing to work on your comebacks." Seriously, kids these days. So prone to violence.

  
***

  
"And anyway, my comebacks are amazing," she says a short time later, as if the thought's been at the back of her mind for a while and now she needs to let it out. "Your little...tattoo...self likes them, anyway. He keeps racking points up on that scoreboard."

  
"He's biased," Maui says immediately. "He seems to have gotten attached to you, so he's biased and that doesn't count."

  
"Shouldn't he be biased in your favor? Seeing that he's a part of you-" Her face scrunches in confusion, "I mean, is he a part of you or is he like a little person that looks kind of like you that...lives on your skin."

  
"You're overthinking it," he accuses, "Now you've made it weird. You took it to a place that it didn't need to go."

  
Moana pulls a face, clearly still thinking about having a little person living on her skin, then shrugs it off. "Well, I can see why he'd be biased against you, come to think of it, seeing that he has to be around you all the time."

  
Maui shakes a finger at her. "There's still time to smite you."

Meanwhile, his miniature self, who really needs a long talk about loyalty and whose side he's actually on, draws up the scoreboard and draws another little dash onto Moana's.

  
***

  
As a student, she is an impressively quick learner. Part of that might be her overwhelming desire to learn, but there are definite signs of an innate talent there, too. It's good that she has it, honestly, as she needs a certain sensitivity to be able to navigate as well as he does. Wayfinding involves calculations and knowledge, but it's just as much feeling and sensing and knowing directions from the winds, the swells, the waves. Maui can teach her all the tricks he knows, but without the ability to open and draw on those senses, she'd be out of luck.

  
But Moana takes in the gentle, even rocking of mid ocean waves, the steeper waves lapping around land, and the swift currents as though it's all a language, as though the ocean is speaking to her in the tones of an old dear friend. And who knows, maybe it is. The crazy thing chose her, after all, for some indecipherable reason. He still hasn't figured it out. Why does the ocean do anything?

  
"How did the ocean choose you, exactly?" he asks, eventually. It's not that he's dying of curiousity so much as him wanting to know how one qualified for that sort of thing. "Was there a big line of volunteers and it just grabbed one up? You had a fishing competition?"

  
She frowns, but not like she's offended at the question. It's more of a pensive frown. "I don't remember it very well," she says, finally. "There was this baby sea turtle. I helped it into the water, and there were shells, and I was walking into the ocean, but it was...it was moving back, like it was leading me in. I remember looking at a wall of water with fish swimming in it, coral, seaweed. And then, the water looked at me, I guess."

  
Moana glances at the ocean as if for confirmation of this, but it doesn't offer anything up in the way of an answer. "I remember the heart as just something green and glowing," she adds. "It floated towards me and I took it. But I dropped it again, after it took me back to shore. My grandmother took it and kept it for me."

  
"Long time ago, was it?" he asks, and he's honestly kidding around at this point because of course the ocean would have had to pick her out sometime recently, she's this...barely adolescent person. Clearly the ocean wouldn't have picked an actual toddler-

  
"I was maybe two or three," Moana admits, sheepishly.

  
Maui looks at her face and snaps his mouth shut for a second. The girl shrugs at him. "Well, of course," he manages, finally. "That's a great age for a big mystical showdown against a lava slinging demon. Everyone should start as early as possible."

  
"To be fair, my grandmother at least waited until I was this old to tell me," Moana says in defense of the adult figure in her life who handed her that awful rock and steered her towards a mission she seems hellbent to die on.

  
"Well, that was really sound of her," he says in a brightly sarcastic tone, and because he's being nice, he neglects to add something really rude like: 'bless her senile old bones', "I mean, why wait five more years? You're totally ready now!"

  
"I mean, she was dying," Moana says evenly, "So it wasn't like she had five more years to wait."

  
And then she gets up and adjusts the sail, leaving him with the foot in his mouth and his angry tattoo tapping his tiny foot and looking at him judgmentally.

  
"Oh," he says after a pause that must have been too long, feeling very painfully inadequate.

  
It's not really an emotion he's used to. Maui's much more comfortable with the whole, 'I can definitely trash the latest monster of the week' or at least the cautiously hopeful 'I can definitely bring about a change in the actual way the world runs!', and the tried and true: 'Anything I do is awesome!' But this, this is a desperate scrambling for something to say that won't make the whole thing worse. Or cause tears, and crying, and emotions. Maui is a demigod of the wind and sea, but as far as crying mortals go he's only good for a stiffly awkward pat on the back and a 'there, there.'

  
Moana has her back almost pointedly turned to him, and she's grasping the rope with white-knuckled fingers. She has yet to speak, and silence doesn't suit her. It feels as heavy as the weight of water, leagues down under the ocean.

  
Mini Maui pointedly kicks him, which he takes to signify 'hey, she gave you a pep talk, it is now your turn. go on and crush it, you're a demigod, how hard could it be.' And hasn't he let the silence stretch too long again? He has, hasn't he? 

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks, which is definitely the right thing to say at times like this. Or so he thinks. Or maybe not, because the kid makes no verbal response whatsoever except to adjust their path slightly, and then sink to a sitting position. Moana curls her arms around herself, every muscle and every line in her body pulled taut with tension. 

And yeah, he knows better than most how unspoken grief makes a body harden, clench in on itself. Maui sits beside her and waits for a moment, glancing at her face. It's all stubbornness and suppressed- _something_ , tears, or doubts, or pain. He realizes that, aside from having a pet pig that likes its ears scratched, he doesn't know much about this girl's life. Not about her parents- who, gods help him, hopefully are still alive, friends, the mundanities of mortal life that he tries not to show much interest in. He hasn't thought about her having a life before him, he guesses.

"I'm sorry," he says, quiet. It still sounds loud enough because there's nothing to be heard but the gentle crash of waves.

"I know she's not really gone," she says, finally, and he thinks maybe she's talking to the ocean and not him. "And I haven't- I haven't had time to think about it, I guess. But I miss her, and she won't be there when I come back." 

***

In the end, he doesn't say anything. Can't think of anything to say. Can't tell her to stop her poorly timed mourning and please steer the boat, can't come up with a properly comforting spiel about the nature of life and death and mortality in general, so Maui just sorts of sits there like a really decorative boulder and resorts to the old classic shoulder pat. Because, as usual, he is truly the master of reassurance. The kid sits through a couple minutes of his mute shoulder-patting and then tells him she's going to rest her eyes for an hour and to please wake her up after that. And then she pats him on the shoulder, like she's comforting _him_ for having to go through all the stress of seeing her in a state of misery. So really, those back pats are just the gift that keeps on giving.

He waits for her to curl up into a sad, sleeping little ball and then starts quietly hissing at the water about its choices to let off some steam.

"Let's find a cute baby and give it the most dangerous rock in existence," he rants, "Let's observe a toddler walking around on the beach and decide: that's her! That's the one for this mission! What were you going to do, float her to my island?"

He gets splashed with a ton of seawater, which is typical. "Is this going to be a thing with you?" he asks, "Like, I'm sure she was adorable, but that's not exactly what we should be choosing our potential heroes for, right? You couldn't at least have picked someone who could sail?"

More seawater.

"Okay. I'm wet but I'm still right," he says, holding on to rationality. "What were your plans if she didn't work? A whole army of babies to lull the lava monster into a false sense of security?"

The ocean lifts up out of the surface of the water and seems to shake its 'head' at him aggressively. 

"She could have died so many times on this trip," he informs it. "Soooo many times."

He's going to have to make sure this kid sails like a pro. It's the least he can do to up her chances of survival.

***

"I could have died in that cave you tried to trap me in," Moana points out in a tone that he thinks is too reasonable, when he points out that she needs to worry about fatal things.

Maui frowns at her. "No," he says, "There wasn't anything dangerous in the cave, right? And you'd get water from that hole in the ceiling, and I'm sure some nice villagers from your island would have dropped by eventually to get you out."

Moana ticks the items off on her fingers, "One: no one on my island can sail. Wayfinding is lost knowledge. No one does it anymore. My dad kind of banned it, and so did probably every other chief. Two: I would have needed food."

"After like a year you would have needed food," he says, confident. She shoots him a look that clearly communicates that she thinks he is crazy. "It is a year, right?" he asks, a little desperately.

"A couple weeks, maybe." 

"Oh." He feels a little sick, actually.

Moana pats his hand. "So really it's a good thing I busted your statue."

"Yeah, it- wait. What did you do with my statue?"

***

 Maui teaches her what he knows about the self discipline needed to stay awake through the nights, but they're at sea for weeks and humans need to sleep sometime. Moana sleeps for a few hours at a time, and she sleeps fitfully. While awake, she's energetic, enthusiastic to the point of being giddy over her lessons and the chance to learn navigation and how to use this old boat of hers. Asleep and  with her thoughts and worries unguarded, she seems to wander into dark dreams that have her muttering frightened words in her sleep and waking with a gasp, taking in air like she's come up from deep water. He doesn't bring it up or call attention to it, and it doesn't happen every time she sleeps, but it's not something he enjoys watching.

Right on cue, she shifts onto her side, her expression drawn into a concerned grimace.

"Whatever you're thinking, stop," he advises her. "Dream about your chicken growing some brains or something."

 This sage advice does not seem to penetrate through the haze of sleep, and the kid just inhales sharply and tosses to the side, looking unhappy. Her fingers clench into fists, and she moves position again, seemed to kick her legs at something. There's a sharp vertical line from her brows drawing together in such a deep frown, and he feels like if he just reaches out and smooths out her expression, she'll have a much happier dream. A dream about sailing, or fresh coconuts, or sailing _in_ a fresh coconut.

Come to think of it he doesn't know much about what humans dream about, either. 

"No," she whispers, and it sounds ragged, like it's tearing her way out of her throat. Maui considers maybe splashing her with water and pretending a wave just washed right over the boat, what do you know it, what are the odds. She needs her sleep, sure, but whatever is going on in her mind can't be good for her. 

Instead, he reaches over, tentatively, and tries to smooth those worried lines on her face with his thumb. "It's way too early for you to be getting wrinkles, Chosen One," he tells her, his voice quiet. And for whatever reason, because even he can't bring himself to believe in his own imagined nightmare-banishing expertise, Moana's expression clears a little. 


End file.
